


rotten on the inside

by lucy_blue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Angst, Boggarts, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canonical Child Abuse, Gen, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Third Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_blue/pseuds/lucy_blue
Summary: Harry's boggart isn't Voldemort, or even a dementor. It's something much worse.





	1. Chapter 1

_”You musn’t blame yourself for the way the boy’s turned out, Vernon. If there’s something rotten on the inside, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”_

* * *

Harry knows from the start that this is going to _suck_. 

He got even less sleep than usual the previous night, caught up in nightmares. At breakfast, everyone eyed him and whispered about _Sirius Black, probably after Potter, heard he’s been spotted around Hogsmeade_. And, he forgot his ink pot- something he only realized as he entered the classroom. 

It gets worse, though. Lupin’s sick, and _Snape_ of all people is subbing in, stalking around the classroom looking even more homicidal than usual, which is saying something. 

Somehow that’s not even all of it. They’re doing boggarts today, because Harry’s life is fan- _fucking_ tastic. 

Once Snape has sufficiently terrified them all with an explanation of what, exactly, boggarts are, they all follow the dungeon bat to the abandoned classroom the boggart hiding in. The desks are all pushed back against the walls, in a sort of ring, and it reminds Harry of the Colosseum- a loose ring of spectators around the arena, sating their appetite on their favorite bloodsport. 

“We will begin in five minutes,” Snape tells them. “I suggest you prepare yourselves.” 

They all start trying to figure out how to shave their worst, most horrific fears into small, harmless jokes. Or. Everyone except for Harry, he supposes. _Harry_ is trying to figure out what his worst fear even is. 

The obvious answer is Voldemort, back to full strength. But Harry’s not sure the Boggart could properly represent that- Harry doesn’t have the faintest what Voldemort really looks like, after all. 

Maybe Tom Riddle? Harry thinks of his neat, starched robes and deadly, polite smile and a slight shudder runs through him. But he doesn’t think that’s it, either… At least, he hopes it’s not. Can you imagine what everyone else would think, seeing The Boy Who Lived’s worst fear is of some ordinary enough looking Slytherin bloke?

Ron’s murmuring something about ‘take of its legs’, probably for his fear of spiders. If only it were that simple for Harry. Harry tries to get back on task… what else? The basilisk? Quirrell? Or- a brief image of a rotting hand, curling slowly around the train’s compartment handle (Merlin, Malfoy would never let him live that down). There’s something else, something just on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for him to- 

But no, he’s out of time. They all start lining up, some of them hurrying to the front to get it over with, others lingering in the back. Harry joins Neville near the end of the line. 

Harry doesn’t join the rest in laughing as Parvati unravels the mummy down to nothing. He still can’t figure out what that niggling idea is. It’s probably best to just assume the boggart will be one of the other things. If it’s the basilisk, Harry reasons to himself, he’ll turn it into an empty snake skin, a dementor, into a old cloak, Quirrell… hm. Into a gigantic clove of garlic, how about? That one gets a chuckle out of him. 

Dean dispatches the severed, rotting hand in front of him. There are only a few people left before Harry, and he doesn’t feel at all ready. A gigantic spider rises in front of Ron- he moves admirably quickly, and suddenly there’s a huge spider abdomen flying around like some strange bouncy ball- it lands right in front of Lavender, who leaps aside with a high pitched squeal- and suddenly the dementor is right in front of Harry. 

A silence starts to descend as the class stares in confusion. Harry, too, is silent from shock. 

Standing before them is a small boy, skinny and unassuming, with huge, oversized clothes, and a messy, matted head of hair. His head is bent down, and you can’t see his eyes. He looks like the last thing anyone would fear, but Harry can feel his heart pounding violently in his chest. He knows who this is. 

The boy raises bright green eyes and stares straight at Harry. “They don’t know, do they?” he asks quietly. There’s a dead silence now, not even a whisper. 

Harry can’t respond. It doesn’t matter anyway. Some part of him knows the boy will just keep on talking, and there’s nothing he can do to shut him up.

The boy throws his head back and laughs, bitter and loud and awful. “They really don’t! They think you’re one of them- better than that, even, they think you’re the best of them, the goddamn Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived!” He chortles darkly. “ _You_ \- the dullard, the delinquent, Dudley’s favorite punching bag, the _freak_! Even here at Hogwarts, the _freak_ \- the Parselmouth, the one the hat wanted in Slytherin… The-Boy-Who- _Fucking_ -Lived!” He breaks down into laughter again. 

The boy keeps on laughing. Harry is frozen, useless, the room staring, unmoving.

“They really think you’re some sort of hero, coming out of everything golden and unscathed,” the boy continues, still chuckling. “Bet they don’t know about _this_.” He yanks up his oversized t shirt sleeve, revealing the still bloody, still fresh puncture wound from the basilisk. “Just sheer, dumb luck Fawkes helped you out with that one,” he grins. “Too bad Fawkes couldn’t help you out with this one,” he shows the scar from where Ripper latched onto his leg like a steel trap, “or the frying pan, or Dudley, or-” 

“Shut _up_ ,” Harry hisses.

“Oh be quiet, freak,” the boy replies, grinning, then, turning towards where Ron, Dean and Seamus are standing, “Did you know he still gets nightmares? Crying for his poor dead mummy,” he mocks in a baby voice. “You should tell Malfoy, he’d find it _hilarious_. Or about the cupboard, he’d love that-” 

“I said SHUT UP,” Harry bellows. His breath is coming way too fast and he needs to be _done with this_.

“Malfoy’d love the cupboard,” the boy continues, “Remember that one time? An entire month locked in there-” 

Harry turns and storms out. 

“RUN ALONG BACK TO YOUR CUPBOARD THEN, _FREAK!_ ” the boy screams after him. Harry flips him the bird and is out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

_“They don’t know, do they?”_

Boggarts are difficult. They give fear flesh, realize fear into its worst and most cutting form. But Harry’s is worse; his is a self fulfilling prophecy. Harry’s is fear, given flesh, fear, realized, fear, coming true, fear, that you can’t escape from, fear, that a Riddikulus won’t banish, fear, that everyone knows about, and Harry, Harry is overwhelmed by fear, is hurrying into the nearest bathroom, sliding under the sink , trying to focus, trying to breathe, please he needs to breathe, breathe, breathe-

He comes back to himself slowly. He has no idea how long it’s been. At last he manages to stand on wobbling legs. His face is bloodless, covered in snot and tears. He should clean himself up but it feels pointless. He’s been cracked open, his deepest parts revealed, shivering in the unforgiving air.

Because that’s what people don’t realize. Harry’s got… not masks, he’s not a _Slytherin_ \- but… he’s got… layers.

Aunt Petunia talks a lot about “appropriate behavior”, and Harry… Harry pays attention. He figures out the assumptions, and behaves appropriately. In school, he acted… more detached. ( _the dullard_ ) Around the neighborhood, more… antagonistic. ( _the delinquent_ ) The neighbors say to themselves, who can blame Dudley, that Potter boy is always provoking him. ( _Dudley’s favorite punching bag_ ) The Dursleys tend to not be quite as harsh if none of the teachers or neighbors are saying anything about their unfortunate ward. ( _the freak_ )

Hogwarts is harder. They expect something more difficult- a hero. ( _The Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived_ )

He figures out what has to be done eventually. It’s the doing that’s difficult. 

The most important thing is simple; heroes always win. 

If heroes are injured, it’s fashionable little scrapes, not gruesome, painful, wounds. ( _the still bloody, still fresh puncture-_ ) Their battles are adventures, and when their adventure ends, they remember it only fondly. ( _did you know he still gets nightmares?_ ) Heroes stand up to bullies, not bend for their demands. Even if they had bullies in their family- which they _don’t_ \- they would stand up to them. 

Which is one of a long list of reasons he doesn’t tell Hermione and Ron about the Dursleys. (He’s not lying, not _really_ , only allowing them to believe their assumptions. It’s not like _they_ tell him _him_ about every aspect of their lives, either… it just never really came up, okay?)

As heroes always win, there’s no need for the scrabbling, belly-in-the-dust relentless ambition that would send you off to Slytherin. ( _the one the hat wanted in Slytherin_ ) There’s no need for deceit, or cunning, or resourcefulness, or ambition, because heroes get that it is what it is, and there’s no need to try for anything else. 

( _RUN ALONG BACK TO YOUR CUPBOARD THEN, **FREAK**_ )

“Shut up,” Harry says softly. 

But it doesn’t matter what Harry says now. Everyone in his class heard, and by dinnertime all of Hogwarts will know. 

He wonders, what, exactly, they’re all thinking now.

* * *

Do you know how ashamed they feel? How young, with their petty, easily conquered worries of mummies and banshees? Can the look in Potter’s eye ever cease to be seared, blazing, into their minds?

They were quiet. They said nothing as Potter was slowly destroyed before their eyes. Worse, they were, in a way, participants- unwilling, but without them, Potter’s boggart would have been a threatening possible future. Now, it’s the painful present. 

They shouldn’t tell… but they still do. The story weighs them down, and they need to be free from it, so they pass it on. None of them really thinking, really understanding that by doing so, they’re making Potter’s boggart finish coming true. They’re children, after all. 

(Is Potter? Is Potter still a child?)

 _”...the most disturbing boggart, I was in class with Potter… skinny as a skeleton, and dressed in rags… and the things it said… kept on laughing, the most awful laugh… I’ll pass you a note during Divination, if you promise not to tell anyone else-”_ The whisperer’s face creases with worry as she undishes the sordid details. 

_”she was in class with him and she said… supposed to be in Slytherin… month in a cupboard… freak… frying pan… basilisk… keep it quiet, I wasn’t supposed to tell-”_ The messenger fiddles with the scrunchie on her wrist as she quickly explains the story. 

It spreads slowly at first, but then faster, and faster. 

_”someone named Dudley… relative, maybe?... cupboard… thought that little fucker Malfoy would-”_ This messenger’s eyes are flinty with anger, and he doesn’t keep his voice quite as low as he should.

 _“Potter’s boggart was Malfoy finding out about-”_

_”boggart was himself, but skin and bones, and dressed in rags, with this huge scar- basilisk-”_

_"frying pan- cupboards- relatives- Malfoy..."_

The claims growing bolder, more unlikely. 

_”re-sorting to Slytherin, God knows that Slytherins could do with Potter as a seeker, that Malfoy brat is useless...”_

(A lot of the school has suddenly found quite a bit of venom within themselves to direct towards Malfoy. They may not all like Potter that much, but there’s _not liking someone_ and _being a part of their worst fear_. In other news, a quieter rumor has also been circulating about Neville Longbottom’s boggart, and there’s a clique of upper years hufflepuffs that’s getting downright _homicidal_.) 

_”more than a month in a cupboard, swear to Merlin it’s true,”_

_“month and a half in a cupboard, no food no water, probably only magic keeping him alive-"_

_“basilisk bite in his throat- really must be immortal, amiright?”_

Among the Slytherins, the story also spreads, with only a bit more subtlety. 

_“One of the more reliable Ravenclaws... her sister’s in his class… said... boggart- supposed to be in-”_

_”parselmouth- should be with us...”_

_“have it from reliable sources that... called him a freak… anti-magic relatives?... the **indignity** ”_

_"cupboard- thought Malfoy'd find it **funny.** "_ This particular person sends a skittering glance towards the dorm’s bathroom, into which Malfoy had disappeared, presumably to fix his oddly mussed hair. Within the bathroom, Malfoy stares at his own pale and disturbed reflection, trying to gather himself.

The whispers even reach the teachers.

_"my students... gossiping during class..."_

_"...worried about Potter's mental state... freak... kind of mindset... Obscurus."_

_"Malfoy- out of line- must pay more attention to bullying within Hogwarts-"_

_"cupboard... neglect, if not abuse... verbal abuse, certainly..."_ That's Professor McGonagall speaking softly to Professor Flitwick, the kind of steely look in her eyes that scattered Death Eaters during the War. 

_"...Dumbledore?"_

* * *

As predicted, by dinnertime all of Hogwarts knows. They watch the doors eagerly, but Harry Potter doesn’t emerge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, more. Special thanks to LunaTorki, for that comment about everyone knowing by dinnertime, and to Mia_reads for giving me that last push to polish off my half-finished second chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione sighs when she sees the bathroom door, and briefly wishes Ron had been the one to search this wing, but the thought’s a fleeting one. She takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door. “Harry?” 

There’s silence for several moments, long enough Hermione almost turns to go, but then finally a rather cracked voice responds, “Yeah?” 

“Can I come in?” Hermione asks. 

A longer silence, and then, “I suppose.” 

Harry’s slumped in the corner of the bathroom. His cheeks are dry, but his eyes are glassy and dull, and he looks _exhausted_. Hermione’s hit with a sudden wave of deja vu- even if their roles are reversed, this reminds her a lot of that time that Harry went looking for her as she cried in the bathroom. 

“Remember the troll?” she asks. 

Harry’s lips don’t even twitch. “Yeah,” he says. He stares ahead, glassy eyed, then, slowly, “At the time, I don’t think any of us realized how close you came to dying, there.”

Hermione swallows. She knew this was gonna be kind of heavy, but that's. Well. 

"That’s probably true,” she agrees at last, dropping down to sit next to him. “We were young enough we felt a little… well, a little bit invincible, I think.” 

“If Ron hadn’t used Wingardium Leviosa on the club…” Harry shakes his head. “I remember I just… stabbed my wand up its nose. What kind of strategy of attack is that?” He laughs, but it isn’t a super funny sound. “I wasn’t very useful, I gotta say.” 

“Harry,” Hermione says slowly, “You realize you shouldn’t have had to be useful, right? Harry, you were _eleven_. Of course you didn’t have a good strategy of attack against a mountain troll. Most eleven year olds don’t. Listen- imagine expecting one of the younger students doing that!” 

Harry imagines Colin Creevey trying to fight a mountain troll, and sees her point at once. “Yeah,” Harry admits. “But... I had to. Just like I had to help out Hagrid with Norberta, and protect the Stone, and save Ginny, and free Dobby, and do… everything else. Because I’m…” he swallows. _The-Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived_. “I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. I’m the hero.” 

Hermione’s brow furrows. “That…” She shakes her head. “That’s just…” 

“I know,” Harry sighs, “but it’s true. I’m the hero, so I have to save the day. I’m the hero, so I have to be strong- no, not just strong, I have to be _invincible_.”

Hermione frowns. “That’s not true, though.” 

“Yeah?” Harry asks disinterestedly, leaning back against the bathroom wall and closing his eyes. 

“I mean, you went to primary school. You know how a story arc goes. There’s the set up- you know, once upon a time, there was a poor farmer boy who was in love with a princess. And then the inciting incident- the princess gets kidnapped by the dragon. And then-” 

“And then the poor farm lad goes off and kills the dragon, and marries the princess, and lives happily ever after,” Harry finishes, still not opening his eyes. 

“Except everyone knows the best stories don’t end that easily,” Hermione replies. “In a good story, there are setbacks and issues and _struggle_. There’s tension. You don’t know that the hero will win. That’s why people like underdog movies- everyone knows it’s more heroic if the main character is struggling and struggling and managing to overcome a whole lot, rather than just sort of- breezing through a couple of little issues.”

Harry opens his eyes and looks right at Hermione, his vividly green eyes stabbing into her. “Is this about the Dursleys?” 

Hermione hesitates briefly, then said, “Yeah, it is. Them and- everything the boggart said. I think you should try to get help.”

Harry doesn’t respond, just closes his eyes again and lets her continue talking. 

“Apparently the Hat was considering you for Slytherin, but I can’t believe it,” Hermione remarks softly. “For a supposed-to-be-Slytherin, you have approximately _zero_ sense of self preservation.” 

“It’s not as though I’m going to… die,” Harry says. The Dursleys aren’t that bad. Right? Sure, they didn’t give him much to eat- but he was never really truly _starved_ \- not so that he’d die of it…

“Okay, two things. First of all, apparently you have a basilisk bite, which the only treatment you got for was having a phoenix cry on? Sounds pretty life threatening to me!” 

“Fawkes neutralized the venom,” Harry protests. 

“Still!” Hermione nearly shrieks. “It’s a gigantic snake bite! It’s a puncture wound! Plus, what if Fawkes had missed a spot!” 

“Then I’d be dead,” Harry points out blithely, “So obviously Fawkes did alright.” He closes his eyes again. 

Hermione lets out an actual shriek this time. “Is that- is that supposed to- to _reassure_ me?” She looks ready to rip out some of her bushy curls. 

“What was the second thing?” Harry asks.

“The second thing is, self preservation doesn’t mean, you know, will to live! It means- you’re preserving yourself! For instance, trying to make sure you don't break your arms while flying around on brooms way higher up in the air than necessary!” 

“This is actually really helping remind me that Gryffindor _is_ really where I belong,” Harry remarks. “Which is nice. Thanks, by the way.” 

“Also!” Hermione cries rather desperately, “At this point- at this point everyone already knows, so if you ask for help, you won’t have the consequences of getting humiliated- that’s already happened.”

Harry snorts. “Nice pep talk, Hermione.” 

There’s silence for a minute or two, long enough that Harry starts to feel bad. Obviously this is really worrying Hermione. 

Finally, Harry pushes himself off the wall, sitting up properly. He doesn’t want to tell Hermione this, since he knows she likes and respects their teachers, but, well, at this point, it’s gotta be done. 

“It’s not as though any of them really care. Remember McGonagall’s reaction when we asked her about the Stone? And…” he hesitates. She’s really not going to like this one. “My address was on the acceptance letter. My full address. They already know.” 

Hermione stares. “What? What does your address have to do with it?” 

“Before Hogwarts,” Harry says softly, “I lived in the cupboard under the stairs. They only moved me after the letters.” 

Harry closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see her face.

“That can’t- that can’t be-” She stutters.

“It’s true,” Harry confirms softly.

“Then they’re- they’re _shit_ professors and _shit_ people,” she says so fiercely Harry is suddenly reminded that this is the same Hermione who once set Snape on fire. 

Harry lets out a startled laugh. “Don’t let Ron hear you saying that,” he says, opening his eyes. Hermione’s eyes are blazing with anger. “He’ll never call Snape ‘Professor’ again.” 

“Well that’s fine by me, seeing how he acted in Defense today,” Hermione responds coldly. “I can’t believe he didn’t step in! And you didn’t see this since you left early, but he was Neville’s boggart! Literally Neville’s worst fear in the entire world! That’s just- that’s honestly _abusive_ , is what it is! Maybe he doesn’t _deserve_ to be a professor!” 

Harry laughs, properly this time. “I’ll be sure to tell Ron about this change of heart.” 

“You do that,” Hermione sniffs. There’s a pause, then she says, “C’mon. I’ll come with you, if you prefer.” 

Harry doesn’t move. 

“Look,” Hermione says, “Even if they were negligent little- little bits of _dung_ before, there’s no way they can be now. Seriously,” she adds, seeing Harry’s skeptical look. “Everyone knows there’s _something_ messed up going on in your home life, and even though that obviously sucks, that also creates pressure on them to _do something_. If they sent you back to those… I don’t really want to even call them _people_... it'll basically be political suicide.” 

“And if they don’t- if they don’t listen, you’ll set them on fire?” Harry asks. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out a little bit too breathy, a little bit too vulnerable. It's okay. He trusts Hermione. 

Hermione smiles, but her eyes are like shards of gleaming ice. “And if they don’t, I’ll set them on fire.” 

Hermione pulls Harry to his feet, and they head out of the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of having Ron be part of this, too, but I'm not as good at writing him, and I had this sudden thought of Hermione explaining that Harry's actually a hero by using what she learned about story arcs as a kid and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it!


End file.
